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bought several items of clothing for herself and new trousers for
Hughie. With the money from the sale of the stolen goods, she had
bought a pallet bed for Hughie and placed it in the spare room. The
excursion terrified her. Handling dirty money was not something
she ever wanted to do again. Her heart nearly gave out every time
someone bumped into her, and when she saw the constable at the
end of the market, she nearly fainted, certain that he was going to
arrest her. Once home, she berated Farrell like a gin-filled fishwife.
Never would she endure such an ordeal again. He let her shout
until she was exhausted, but didn t retaliate except to ask if she had
finished, so he could go for an ale in Heptonstall.
Remembering her fear that day in the market, and knowing that
stolen money had bought her goods, Isabelle took a knife and
savagely cut a piece of apple pie and placed it on a plate for Hughie
as he sat down. Frustrated at her husband s lack of care, for her or
anything else, made her voice sharp. Did Farrell do any work
today?
Hughie shrugged, taking a large bite. He swallowed and poured
himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table. When I was chop-
ping wood, he was fiddling around in the end shed. When I looked
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T HE GE NT L E WI ND S CARE S S
comment. Besides, he couldn t tell her anything that she didn t
already know or suspect about her husband. She hurriedly assisted
the woman whose three children fondled her delicious pies and
tarts. Each child received a slap from their mother for their rude-
ness before she bought an apple pie.
For the next hour, Isabelle remained busy as a slow but constant
line of purchasers filed by. Her skirt pocket jingled with coins, and
buoyant with her success, Isabelle smiled widely at anyone who
CHAPTER SIX looked her way. Yes, she was new and drew interest, but she
didn t care. For the first time in her life she had earned money and
the success of it made her light-headed. As the midday rush
dwindled to a trickle, Isabelle placed the last remaining lemon
The cries of stallholders carried on the wind and filled the market- curd tart in her smallest basket. She stacked two other baskets into
place. Early morning crowds, all eager for a good buy, picked their the biggest one and then folded the sheet. She glanced up as a
way past the numerous stalls. Housewives and grandmothers large woman with straggly black hair and a hairy chin stopped in
fiddled with sale items, bargaining for the right price, while front.
servants inspected fruit, fish and cheese to make certain their I m sorry, I only have a tart left, but I ll be back next week. . .
master s money bought only the best. No, yer won t! The woman sneered, bending forward over the
Isabelle viewed the stream of people from behind her stall. table just inches from Isabelle s face. She smelt of stale sweat and
Smiling, she nodded to those who stared at the newcomer. Her ale.
tarts, pies and cakes lay on a clean sheet covering the trestle table. Isabelle stepped back. Pardon?
Farrell, having driven her to the market, had then disappeared, but Didn t yer ear me? The woman spat to the side. Yer ain t
promised to pick her up at one o clock. coming back to this market!
Her neighbouring stallholder, a grey-haired elderly man selling Alarmed, Isabelle looked at the gathering crowd, who having
garden tools and other ironmonger equipment, stepped nearer. I ve heard raised voices thought they might find some free entertain-
not seen yer before? ment. The enormous woman placed hands as large as frying pans
She smiled in reply. No. This is my first time here. I m Isabelle on her wide hips and stared at Isabelle as though she was filth in
Gib Farrell. the gutter.
Farrell? He took his pipe out of his mouth. The only Farrell s I Yer ve tekken me trade away. I ve sold next ter nowt terday! She
know are from Meadow Farm or out along Sowerby way. stabbed a fat finger at Isabelle. I sell the pies and tarts around ere
I live at Meadow Farm. see, and old Mrs Brierly at top end sells her bread. Tis an arrange-
Yer married Len Farrell? His incredulous look made her uncom- ment we ve had fer nigh on ten years.
fortable. I wasn t aware . . .
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